


migraine (behind my face and above my throat)

by magicandlight



Series: The States [43]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers, Statetalia
Genre: 5+1 Things, F/M, Fluffy, Headaches & Migraines, Sickfic, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2019-12-27
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:55:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21993304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magicandlight/pseuds/magicandlight
Summary: He doesn't really like being alone when he has a migraine. Maybe it makes him weak, but he's hurting and he feels helpless and as much as they fight, he knows Cordelia won't let anything bad happen.
Relationships: Michigan/Ohio (Hetalia)
Series: The States [43]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/788712
Comments: 1
Kudos: 20





	migraine (behind my face and above my throat)

1

Michael's having a hard time mustering guilt for snapping at Minnie and Tyler right now, even though he'll feel terrible for it later.

They were just so _loud_.

Michael opens his eyes at the sound of his bedroom door opening, only to hiss and close them as he remembers that he hadn't drawn the curtains before curling up in bed after breakfast and hadn't had the energy to get up and do it later.

There's a soft rustling he recognizes as the curtains being closed, and then the bed dips lightly as someone sits next to his shins.

"Tyler said you yelled at him and Mindy."

Michael groans slightly. "Not in the mood for a lecture, 'Delia."

Cordelia sighs. "I know. How bad is it?"

"Seven."

Cordelia's silent for a moment. "Stay or go?"

"...You can stay."

He doesn't really like being alone when he has a migraine. Maybe it makes him weak, but he's hurting and he feels helpless and as much as they fight, he knows Cordelia won't let anything bad happen.

Cordelia hums softly, climbing over his legs and settling against the headboard so that her thigh presses against his shoulders reassuringly. She cards her fingers through his hair, rubbing gentle circles against his scalp.

He wakes up in the morning to find Cordelia's head tipped back against the headboard and her hand on his head, and she gives him hell for a week after for the way he snores and the crick in her neck.  
  
  


2

Michael pulls at his bow tie, hoping to ease the suffocating feeling.

While the formal parties at the white house have never been fun, usually they're less miserable than this.

Usually, Michael can at least fake a smile and be charming for a handful of hours, and afterward snatch a bottle of wine and find either Riley or Cass to share it with while complaining about rich people, politicians, or worse: rich politicians. Sometimes, depending on the last fight they had, he can even rope Cordelia into it, and she can complain about the men who flirt with her or the old women who talk up their sons and/or grandsons.

Tonight, he can't be bothered to paste even a thin veneer of charm over his bad mood. Not with the feeling of his dress shirt sticking to his spine with sweat, the pressure behind his eyes, the way the light and noise chafe his senses.

Michael flinches when Sera appears at his side to press something cold into his palm.

"It's the key to my office. You know where it is." She explains quietly.

She's gone before Michael remembers to say thank you.

\-----------

He's buried under Sera's lavender throw blanket with his face pressed into the couch cushions, repressing the urge to throw up when Cordelia finds him.

Michael turns his head enough to watch her set a glass of water down on the table and pick up the suit jacket he'd shed as soon as he was away from prying eyes and the bow tie that had been choking him all night, draping them neatly over the back of the couch.

Cordelia settles next to him, and while he normally accepts her fussing without complaint, tonight he recoils as soon as she gets close. The sudden movement jars his stomach.

 _No, no, no, if I throw up in her office Sera will murder me_ , Michael thinks as he scrambles off the couch to grab for the wastebasket.

Cordelia does it for him, pressing it into his hands just in time.

Cordelia brushes his bangs back the same way she does for Cass when she's sick and doesn't say anything as Michael spits and scrubs at his eyes, just grabs the glass of water off the table and hands it to him.

Michael tries to lean away subtly, but Cordelia definitely notices. 

Logically, he knows that Cordelia's perfume can't be that strong, but migraines always make him more sensitive and right now Cordelia smells like she fucking _bathed_ in roses, and it had the bonus of making his head spin and his stomach turn.

Michael doesn't meet her questioning gaze. "...It's just...your perfume makes it worse." He mumbles.

"Oh," Cordelia says, voice oddly small. "Um. I guess I'll just- go then. I'm sorry."

Cordelia keeps her distance, but she waits until he's settled back on the couch and wrapped up in the blanket in a ball of misery before she leaves.

Within five minutes, she's sent Riley up to take her place.

Three days later when Michael tries to thank her, she pretends she doesn't know what he's talking about before proceeding to hip check him hard enough to bruise and steal the hockey puck.   
  
  


3

"You're always clingy when you have a migraine."

Michael makes a disagreeing noise, but doesn't argue, choosing to press his face into Cordelia's sweater instead. She sighs, and rests her book against his shoulder. 

They're on good terms right now, good enough that Michael's allowed to flop down on her bed and rest his head on her thigh without more than a few sarcastic remarks. 

Her hands run through his hair, Michael flinching when her fingertips gently prod the spot where his head bounced off the ice today. 

"You have blood in your hair," Cordelia says conversationally. "Care to explain why?"

"Told you it wasn't a real migraine." He mumbles out. 

Cordelia winces. "Concussion?"

Michael nods, and instantly regrets it. 

"As long as you don't throw up, you can stay here," Cordelia mutters, flipping the page of her book with one hand. 

The other stays in his hair, and Michael's perfectly content with that. 

4

Michael gets a migraine during the new years party, which means he can't even enjoy the teasing kiss Nora had given him at midnight, let alone think about what it might have meant.

Michael is very tempted to drink the frighteningly neon green martini Cass had got just to see if the alcohol would numb his headache a little bit.

"It might help, actually." Cordelia interrupts his thought process, and Michael jerks his hand away from Cass's abandoned drink. She must have sat beside him while he was still weighing the possibility the alcohol might make it worse.

Cordelia rolls her eyes. "If you want to drink it, go ahead. It might actually dull your migraine."

Michael drinks it, almost shuddering at the too-sugary taste.

This was why he ate crackers when he had a migraine. Everything tasted too much.

He lays his head down on the table, resting his cheek against the soothing cold of the wooden surface.

Cordelia pushes her drink towards him.

"Can't. I have to drive home." At least Riley's hosting this year, so it's not as bad a drive as it could be. Or worse, a flight. 

"You can't drive with a migraine, so give me your keys and drink the margarita."

"I can drive home."

"No," Cordelia snaps. "You could get into a car accident."

Michael bites off a protest. Cordelia had a sensitivity to anything about crashes.

He sits up enough to dig his keys out his pocket and slide them across the table. 

"Thanks," he mumbles out. 

Cordelia huffs. "Don't thank me, you're gonna have to drive me back home after all this."

\-----------

"Fucking stick shifts," Cordelia hisses when she stalls the car out. 

Michael winces, but takes comfort in the fact that Cordelia's actually a pretty good driver and she's always picked things up quickly. 

"What happened to your car?" Michael blurts out as he settles into a semi-comfortable position. 

"Got Will to drive it back to Columbus. He rode with Brooke, so. And he owed me a favor. Hey, you good?" Cordelia eyes the way he's got his head on the console and his feet on the glove box. 

Michael makes a so-so gesture with his hand, making the executive decision to ignore the subject change. Cordelia waits until they're at a stoplight to reach into the backseat. 

She passes him a purple jacket. Mindy's, from the last time she came to a hockey game with him. "Here, if you fold it up you can use it as a pillow."

\-----------

Michael wakes up in his own bed the next morning with only the vague recollections of being half-carried, half-dragged there. 

Cordelia's not on the couch when he sticks his head in the living room, but the Cordelia-blanket is folded up nice and neat on the back of the couch. 

(Mindy made fun of him for having specific blankets for everyone, but so what if he had a stack of blankets in the hall closet? Mindy's was purple fleece with snowflakes embroidered onto it. Cass's was knitted with cream-colored chunky yarn. Ty's was cheerful yellow and weighted. Oliver's was thicker with black splotches that reminded Michael of a cow. Riley's was a quilt of NASCAR shirts he'd picked up at some craft thing. Cordelia's was dark blue with stars.)

"Waffles?" Cordelia asks when he walks into the kitchen. 

Michael smiles. "Guess I'll drive you back to Columbus after breakfast, as long as you buy lunch."

"Like I'd let you drive ten hours without even offering to buy you lunch."

5

The worst part about his migraines is the _anticipation._ It's waiting.

Because even though the day starts out with just nothing more than a mild headache throbbing behind his eyes, Michael knows what the start of a migraine feels like.

By the time it actually starts, Michael's shoulders are tight with tension. He's annoyed that a migraine has managed to steal part of his time with his family, but at least it happened the day after Christmas.

It's been a while since he's had one this bad.

It doesn't take long for Cordelia to find him, but then it never does.

Michael shifts enough to allow her to lay beside him, letting her get comfortable before he settles down halfway draped over her.

He tucks his head in the crook of her neck and wraps his arm around her waist. Cordelia kisses his temple.

Cordelia cards her fingers through his hair, nails scratching gently. Michael presses up into the touch because even with his head absolutely _killing_ him it still feels like heaven. Cordelia murmurs something about overgrown puppies, and Michael pointedly ignores her.

The tension slowly leaves his body until Michael's a boneless lump, but his migraine sticks around for a while after that. 

"I love you."

Cordelia's hand stills. While this isn't the first time they've said it, they haven't said it enough that the shock of the words has worn off yet. 

"You should get some sleep." Cordelia finally replies, running her fingers through his hair again, and then: "I love you too."

Michael hides his smile against her throat.

+1

The flu and finals are the combination from hell, Cordelia decides. 

She's spent the past two weeks buried in textbooks. Her life has been nothing but Electromagnetic Theory and Applications of Quantum Mechanics and Dayquil for three days. 

Cordelia drops her bookbag and falls onto the couch. She'll go to bed in a few minutes. She just needs to rest her eyes for a few minutes. 

\-----------

Cordelia's passed out on the couch with her reading glasses and shoes still on. 

Michael laughs quietly, setting down the bag of pierogis and the case of those sodas Cordelia likes. He can't judge, they've all got their regional sodas.

"Corey, wake up."

He has to shake her before her eyes blink open, and then she immediately closes them with a grimace. 

Michael winces in sympathy at the familiar expression. "Migraine?"

"Flu." Cordelia mumbles.

Michael doesn't bother replying, just scoops Cordelia up. 

Cordelia smacks his shoulder, but doesn't argue. She sighs when he sets her on her bed, pulling her glasses off and placing them on her desk. 

He unlaces Cordelia's boots, chucking them somewhere near her closet before he pulls the comfortable up around her. 

Cordelia makes a distressed sound when he gets up, snagging his sleeve before he can do more than take two steps. "Where are you going?"

"Just going to put the food up. I'll be right back, okay?"

"Promise?"

"Promise."

Cordelia lets go of his jacket, and Michael hurries to put up the food. He takes off his jacket on the way, dropping it on the couch with Cordelia's. 

Shoes and socks go next, and then his sweatshirt and jeans. 

He's down to his t-shirt and boxers by the time he's back to Cordelia, and she turns to bury her face in his chest without hesitation. 

Michael smiles, wrapping an arm around her waist to pull her closer. "If I get the flu, you're going to have to deal with me, you know that, right?"

Cordelia huffs. "Yeah, who else would?"

**Author's Note:**

> timeline is pretty vague, but 1 would have been after Ty came out, 2 is sometime during the victorian period, 3 is during the twenties, 4 is sometime in the 60s-70s, and 5 and the +1 are after Cordelia and Michael got together
> 
> title from Migraine by Twenty One Pilots


End file.
